The Tinderbox
by Telerion
Summary: A retelling of Hans Christian Andersen's "The Tinderbox." An ex-soldier working as a messenger encounters a strange man who claims to have lost a tinderbox. (currently ongoing)
1. Part I

The Tinderbox

Part I

Clouds raced across the sky and Velessa shivered, tugging on her jacket. Autumn was truly underway with its brisk winds, but Vel was in no mood to appreciate the red and gold splendor of Westwood Forest. After autumn would be winter, she glumly noted, and the roads would be slick with ice and snow. And she would be trudging those same roads, slogging through the cold to deliver messages from one fat merchant to another—all of them obliviously ensconced in their warm homes.

Ah, if only for the good old days, she mused. Catonia and Aldenbar had been at war for fifty years. As the fourth daughter to a watchmaker, she had been sent off to school once she had been weaned with the hopes that she would become one of Catonia's war engineers. Unfortunately, those hopes were dashed due to her miserable efforts at mathematics. She had shown an aptitude for the arts of defense instead so rather than an engineer, she was trained as a guerrilla fighter. Once she was out of training, she was immediately dispatched to the field. That work, however, lasted only two years. Catonia and Aldenbar were now at a truce.

Vel grimaced. Back then, she couldn't even contemplate an era of peace. The war was her career. And now, she was reduced to disguising herself as a boy just to get some work as a messenger. If only she had become an engineer! Then she would have been able to stay in her native Catonia getting steady work to rebuild the war-torn country.

The road heading south through Westwood Forest to Tarsica's capital city of Garren was a pleasant, even walk. Tarsica was one of Catonia's other neighbors, a strange country rumored to be still wild—not in the sense that the inhabitants were all barbarians, far from it in fact—but a place where odd things still happened. Magic. The king of Tarsica was rumored to be the latest in a line of wizard-kings and that magic ran in his blood. Of course, there was no such thing as magic—as everyone said aloud—but a lot of people couldn't shake the feeling that Tarsica was a bit unusual and perhaps that was why the country had never seen any wars of its own in its recent history.

But whether the king was truly a wizard, no one could really say. He had disappeared a month before on some mysterious errand leaving the throne open for the Duke of Corona to take over as "regent." As far as Vel could tell, though, the change in rulers didn't affect the people of Tarsica much on the surface. The sleepy villages and hamlets that she had passed on her journey didn't seem duly alarmed that the king was nowhere to be found. There was talk about it and no one actually said anything, but she could sense a tense undercurrent running beneath the words.

She brushed those thoughts aside. Tarsican politics was none of her business unless for some inexplicable reason the country decided to go to war with Catonia. All she had to worry about at the moment was to deliver the message she received from a merchant in her homeland to another living in Garren. And to stay on the road. Westwood Forest appeared benign, but who knows what sort of creatures might be lurking in the trees.

The road wound around a bend and as Vel contemplated on whether to stop at an inn at the evening or to conserve her meager stash of coins by camping out underneath the night sky, a shouted curse from her right broke through her reverie. A stout figure in a black traveling cloak was waving a piece of parchment in the air and kicking a withered old tree stump in fury. Vel's first instinct was to ignore the man. But the war was over and there was no one else on the road. Perhaps the fellow traveler was in dire straits.

"Excuse me sir," she called out. "Are you in any need of assistance?"

The stout man kicked the stump one last time before turning to her. Upon walking closer, she noticed that the man was bald except for the tufts of gray hairs coming out above his ears. His chubby face gave him a suspicious beady-eyed look. The man grinned when he noticed that she had been speaking.

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I do need some assistance," the stout man said. "I've accidentally lost my tinderbox down this darn tree stump. I was about to go retrieve it myself—I've got the rope all ready and everything—but I've discovered that I can't even fit through the hole!"

"You lost a tinderbox down a tree stump?" she said bewildered. Vel finally glanced at the tree stump and noticed that it was indeed hollow and the dark hole vanished into the bowels of the earth. A rope had been secured around the stump with the other end dropping into the hole.

The stout man nodded vigorously. "The tinderbox was an old family heirloom that I got from my grandmother. I would be so thankful if I got it back—why boy, I think you're small enough to get down there."

She looked at the hole doubtfully. "I wonder how far down it goes."

"Oh, not far, not far," the stout man said. "There might be some other things down there of course."

"Other things?"

"Dog-spirits and gold coins and such," he said dismissively. "The forest is full of them. I mean, you can just ignore the dog-spirits and the gold coins are real enough if you want them."

"Gold coins?" Well, if Tarsica had magic, she thought, it wouldn't be too far-fetched to think that a treasure was hidden underneath the forest. And if she had even a fraction of a treasure, she would be very well-off indeed. She put down her sack with her belongings and took hold of the rope.

"Sure, if there's gold down there, you can probably take all you want," said the stout man. "I just need that tinderbox."

Vel raised an eyebrow. That was the first that she had heard of anyone prizing a tinderbox over gold. She would have to think about that. So she put a foot on the side of the stump to brace herself as she proceeded to climb into the hole. 


	2. Part II

The Tinderbox

Part II

The hole in the tree stump was very dark. She climbed down. And climbed down some more. When would the hole ever end? Briefly, she looked up and couldn't even see the light from above. Good thing through her previous training, she wasn't claustrophobic or afraid of the dark. During the war, she had been forced to climb down much nastier holes. Finally, from what seemed like an eternity, the bottom of the hole became brighter. Frowning at this strange event, she forced herself to put one hand over the other and a minute later, her feet hit the bottom.

Vel found herself at the end of a small hallway lit by flickering torches secured to the stone walls. Was this magic? But the flames didn't answer her mental question. The torches looked quite normal. Cautiously, she walked down the hallway and entered a circular chamber which also appeared to be hewn out of stone. The floor was etched with a pentagram—four of the points led to thick wooden doors decorated with iron handles. The fifth point directed back to the hallway.

She stood at the center of the chamber, thinking. She had not noticed any sign of a tinderbox at the bottom of the hole or in the hallway. Which could only mean one thing—the stout man hadn't lost anything at all. He was trying to get into this underground chamber to get something—something that probably looked like a tinderbox. She tapped a finger to her lips. Did the man think her a complete idiot?

After making a decision, she approached one of the doors closest to the hallway and tugged on the iron handle. It swung open with ease as if someone had regularly visited the chamber to oil the hinges. The interior was the size of a small closet and to her astonishment, there was a small dog with green eyes the size of teacup saucers staring at her. The dog was quite wrinkly and unattractive—there was definitely some boxer blood in the mutt—but there was a searching intensity to its gaze that disturbed her. The dog was sitting on top of a battered looking chest that looked like it had been literally dropped into the hole. Recalling the stout man's advice for ignoring dog-spirits, she wondered how to move the dog.

She cleared her throat. There was no avoiding it. "Uh, excuse me, dog-spirit, but I need to get into that chest."

"My name is Meeny," said the dog-spirit. He cocked his head and leaped to the ground, his saucer eyes still trained on her. "It's been a while that I've seen a human. And the last one wasn't as polite either."

Vel blinked and then shook her head. "Of course. Magic dogs can talk," she muttered under her breath.

Meeny the dog-spirit watched her as she lifted the lid of the chest and gasped when she glanced inside. It was filled with shiny copper coins. She took a handful and immediately stuffed it in one of her pockets. What would the other doors hold? She suddenly wondered. Forgetting about the copper coins and the dog-spirit, she retreated back into the main part of the chamber and surveyed the rest of the doors. Meeny gave a yawn and settled himself next to the chest filled with copper coins and promptly fell asleep.

She pulled open the next door. The dog-spirit inside was also sitting on a chest, but both were proportionally bigger. This dog-spirit was the size of a large wolf and his green eyes were as large as dinner plates. Vel inquired if the dog-spirit could get off the chest so she could open it. "And is your name also Meeny?" she asked.

The second dog-spirit lumbered off the chest and raised a hind paw to scratch his ears. "No. My name is Miney. And I can tell you right now, there's silver in there."

"Silver?" She hurried over to the chest and flung the lid open. Sure enough, silver coins glimmered from the interior. She grabbed a handful of those coins and filled her other pocket. Her heart pounded as she surveyed the remaining doors. The stout man had said that there were gold coins. From what she had seen so far, one of the other doors would most likely have some. She raced towards the third door and pulled it open, but her grin turned into a muffled shriek.

There was a dog-spirit in this small anteroom too, but this one was probably as large as a horse and his green eyes were as big as the platters used to serve meals at banquets. A large trunk was located squarely between the creature's forepaws.

"G-Good day, dog-spirit," she stuttered.

"Good day, human," he replied. "And I bet you want the gold coins."

She didn't deny it. "But how am I going to carry all of it? My pockets are already full."

"There are some sacks in the corner for just the occasion."

"Thank you, er…"

"Moe."

"Thank you, Moe." A thought struck her as she took one of the sacks and opened the trunk filled with golden coins. "You're not much of a guard dog, are you?"

Moe yawned, showing his dagger-sized teeth. "What do you mean?"

"You and the other dog-spirits aren't doing anything to prevent me from taking your treasure. Why, you're even helping me cart some of this stuff away. There isn't any catch, is there?"

The dog-spirit blinked. "Catch? Oh no, there's no catch. It's just the way things are. You might want to be careful about that wizard up there, though."

"Wizard?" she said startled. "How do you know?"

But Moe only replied with another uninterested yawn.

Vel filled the sack with gold coins and proceeded to the fourth door. Bracing herself to find yet another dog-spirit, even larger than the last, she was utterly surprised when she found the place bare except for a dull metal object on the floor.

She picked it up and turned it about, examining it. It was a tinderbox made of pewter, plain and unadorned except for some scratches along its side. The lid hinged open. The tinderbox was empty except for a chip of sharp obsidian. She closed it and dumped it inside the sack with the gold coins. "Strange," she thought to herself, and quickly walked back the way she came.

By the time Vel climbed back out of the hole, she was breathing hard. Those coins were heavier than they first appeared. She dumped the sack of gold coins on the ground and panted.

"Well, boy," said the stout man, or if the dog-spirit Moe was correct—a wizard, "Do you have my tinderbox?"

Her mind raced as she finally caught her breath. "Tinderbox?" she feigned. "Oh dear, I've clean forgotten about that when I saw all the money. I'll go back down there and get it right away." She made as if to take hold of the rope again as the wizard rubbed his hands in glee. "By the way, what's so important about a tinderbox besides being an heirloom? Surely, you wouldn't want some of the treasure down there yourself? You could buy tinderboxes several times over with all that wealth."

"I just need the tinderbox," said the wizard, but he was frowning at her now.

"It wouldn't be a magic tinderbox, would it?"

"Why are you asking so many questions all of a sudden," the wizard demanded. "You have the tinderbox already, don't you? Give it to me!"

"But I just want to know what exactly you're looking for. I'm entitled to know if I'm doing all the work, climbing down that hole…"

The wizard shrieked and raised his arms, fingers pointing towards her head. Out of habit and reflex, she whipped up the small blade she kept strapped to her side and raised it to the level of her eyes. Light erupted from the wizard's fingers and struck her blade with a force that made her stumble back a few steps. The light bounced from the dagger's reflective surface and headed straight towards the wizard.

Vel slowly lowered her arm and stared at the wizard's body. His head had been blasted away leaving a smoking neck. The body toppled over into a dark, inert lump.

She had been lucky. Very lucky. She knew nothing about magic until this day and somehow she had killed a wizard. Her hands shook as she strapped her blade back to her side and began the distasteful task of dragging the body by its feet to be hidden in the bushes. Hopefully, the body wouldn't be discovered so soon that it could be traced back to her. When that task was done, she took up her belongings and the sack of coins with the tinderbox and headed back down the road. 


	3. Part III

The Tinderbox

Part III

Two days later, Vel arrived in Garren, the capital of Tarsica. The city itself was as neat as a pin with cobbled streets and elegant townhouses lined up in rows. To her eyes, the store shop fronts gleamed and the shoppers and shop keepers were all clean and smiling—at least on the surface. The city itself surrounded a rise of land that was crowned with a ring of tall pine trees and a castle. The gray stone of the castle gleamed silver in the waning sunlight and the blue-roofed turrets sparkled like sapphires. This would be what Catonia was supposed to look like without the war, she mused. Pretty, vibrant, peaceful.

She delivered the message to the fat merchant who lived in a sprawling two-story estate filled with windows and brass doorknobs. She was given her delivery fee and feeling suddenly rich—for not only did she get paid for her job but she was now was in possession of a fair number of copper, silver, and gold coins—she decided to splurge. She loved the city with its busy and peaceful people. She had no need to take on any jobs for quite a while and found herself liking the idea that she could at last stay in one place for a little while.

After a few discrete inquiries, she found a small but elegant townhouse close to the hubbub of the market and ordered some new clothes from a dressmaker. The house and clothes, however, were not to be ready until the next day so she rented a room at a nearby tavern and inn. She ordered dinner and sat by herself in a corner, enjoying the lively folk musicians and the general hustle of a busy evening. As she ate, a wistful thought occurred to her. It would have been nice to share her sudden good fortune with someone. Alas, her own parents and siblings were busy with their own lives in Catonia and the friends she had made during the war had gone back to their own families.

"What I don't understand is, why would the Duke of Corona want to raise the taxes? Tarsica is well enough off." Vel continued to eat her dinner as if nothing was happening, but her ears pricked up at the weary voice at the next table. Two old men, each with mugs of ale, were huddled together talking in low voices.

"Some say he wants to enrich the war coffers."

"Why on earth would the duke want to do that? We're not at war."

"We might be. They say the duke is ambitious and has his sights set on other lands. The northern countries, for instance. They've been fighting for, what? Fifty years? They're in no shape to repel a sudden attack from the south."

Vel felt her blood run cold. The countries north of Tarsica were Catonia and Aldenbar.

There was a sigh from one of the old men. "King Sevris would put a stop to all this nonsense. Tarsica hasn't been to war in hundreds of years! Now isn't the time to satisfy some man's greed for power."

"Shh. Calm down about the regent. His old hag has ears everywhere and you know what happens to those who talk too much about King Sevris' return."

She went straight to her room after dinner, feeling numb and nervous. True, what she had just heard was just some gossip from a couple of geezers, but what if there was some truth to it all? Instead of staying in Garren, she should be hightailing it back to Catonia to at least warn somebody. They might not believe her, but at least she would be doing something about it. The uneasiness underneath the Tarsican's easy going attitudes hinted that the geezers were right about something. The Duke of Corona who was currently sitting on the Tarsican throne was not truly the king.

The sacks containing her belongings and her newly acquired wealth were safely stowed underneath the bed. Vel should have been tired after a full day, but her energy was still at a high level—perhaps left over from her excitement of actually getting a place of her own. She took out one of the sacks and pulled out the old battered pewter tinderbox. This time, she sat on her bed and held the box up to the light to examine it more closely. Her initial impressions were correct—it was a plain thing with nothing more but some scratches on the outside.

The sharp obsidian chip that came with the tinderbox was likewise unremarkable. The stone and the tinderbox felt cold to the touch. Experimentally, she struck the piece of obsidian against the side of the box and heard a faint scratch.

"Good evening, mistress. What may I do for you?"

Vel yelped and nearly tumbled off the bed. The small ugly dog-spirit named Meeny had suddenly appeared sitting at the foot of her bed. He cocked his head and watched her with his enormous green eyes as she regained her breath and pinched herself.

"How did you get here?"

"You summoned me with the tinderbox."

She glanced down at her hands, expecting the tinderbox and the piece of obsidian to have turned into a pair of snakes, but the objects were still their own inscrutable selves. "I struck once," she said slowly.

"Yes," Meeny replied. "That summoned me. Is there anything I can do for you?"

"Like what?"

"I can go back and retrieve some copper coins for you if you'd like. Have you run out of money already?"

"What? Oh no. I'm not that much of an idiot. Or at least I hope not." She grinned wearily. "That must be why that wizard didn't care so much about the money. With the tinderbox, he could get you to get as much money as he wanted."

"So you want me to get some money for you?"

"No. Not at the moment." She regarded the dog-spirit thoughtfully. "Could I summon the other dog-spirits?"

"Certainly. You can call up Miney if you strike the tinderbox twice and Moe if you strike three times."

"And if I don't need you any more?"

"Then just tell us so and we'll be off."

"Hm." She scratched the tinderbox with the obsidian chip two more times. Then three. The wolf-sized dog-spirit, Miney, appeared sitting next to the bed and the largest dog-spirit, Moe, appeared behind Miney filling up the rest of the inn's room.

"Good evening, mistress. What may we do for you?" the two dog-spirits intoned.

"Remarkable!" exclaimed Vel. The tinderbox was indeed magic. She would have to start keeping it with her at all times. It was like one of those magic tablecloths in fairy tales that she had heard during her childhood that could bring back whatever food the owner wanted.

Meeny yawned. "Well, do you want us to do anything or are you just going to sit there asking questions?"

"Questions do seem more prudent than suddenly wishing for more wealth," she told them. "At least, at the moment. What exactly can you retrieve besides money?"

"It can't be bigger than myself," said Meeny, "but if you want something bigger, like a bed for instance, you'd probably have to call up Moe."

"And what if I wanted a castle?"

The three dog-spirits looked at each other. "We could possibly manage it," Miney said finally. "But probably not in the way you might expect."

"Oh? Like if I don't specify what kind of castle I wanted, you might bring back a toy castle instead?"

The dog-spirits grumbled in what sounded like laughter. "You catch on quick," said Moe.

"And what if I wanted you to bring back something magical, like a tablecloth?"

Meeny cocked his head and made a sound like a sneeze. "Depends on the magic. We can probably handle something like the tinderbox."

"But..?"

"There's some magic we can't touch," said Miney. "Some magic repels each other like oil and water. I can't really tell you more than that. No one has asked us to retrieve such magic objects."

Vel leaned back on her pillows. "Can you bring back a person?"

"We can't bring back people from the dead," said Meeny wryly. "That's beyond our powers."

"No, I mean retrieve a person, if he's missing."

The dog-spirits nodded in union.

She crossed her legs underneath her and cupped her chin in her hands and stared back at the dog-spirits, her own gray eyes to their large green eyes without flinching. "Bring me the wizard-king of Tarsica."

"As you wish, mistress," Meeny, Miney, and Moe replied. And they vanished, leaving Vel alone and wondering if she had hallucinated the entire conversation. 


	4. Part IV

The Tinderbox

Part IV

Sevris stood on top of the straw cot he had shoved to the side of the prison cell and looked out the tiny slit that served as a window. It was evening and he could barely make out the moon and stars winking among the straight pine trees encircling the castle. A cool breeze from outside wafted across his face and something sad welled up in his throat. No one knew he was trapped in the dungeon of his own home—not his people, his only remaining relative—a cousin, or even his advisors. They all thought he was on some sort of extended magical vacation.

The wizard-king slumped against the wall and ran his fingers through his dark hair in frustration. What could he do? The traitorous Duke of Corona, Lord Ordon, had tricked him. Self-consciously he tugged at the golden collar at his neck. The collar had supposedly been a gift, but it had been a trap created by the duke's aunt, a witch-hag who had the power to prevent other magicians from wielding their own gifts. And here he was, moldering away as Ordon tried to wait out the information for the key to the scepter room.

The prison cell was plain and a bit drafty, but it could have been worse, Sevris conceded. There was the cot as well as a desk and a chair. He had been supplied with pen and paper to while his time away. Unlike a criminal, he was given meals and baths and clean clothes. For that, the duke understood him somewhat. He would be even less likely to give any information about the key if he were treated miserably although in whatever circumstance, Sevris would rather die than tell the duke about the key. If the scepter fell into Ordon's hands, a lot more people than just himself would suffer. But Ordon would never be able to get the scepter if Sevris was dead.

There must be something he could do, anything. He had been trapped in the cell for almost a month and he was sure he was slowly going mad. Perhaps, he thought, he could write a message and throw it out the window for someone to find. But he had gone over that idea ever since the beginning and he could never be sure that anyone would find the scrap of paper and connect it with him and not some madman. He slammed a fist against the stone wall, heedless of the pain. If only he still had his powers—then he could do something!

The lock to his cell rattled and the door opened, revealing a short man in a fashionable green velvet suit and an even shorter woman in heavy robes. The short man was Ordon—neatly combed back brown hair, impeccable sense in clothing, glittering rings on his fingers, and eyes the color of ice. Sevris was at least two heads taller than the duke and still fit from his daily training with the captain of the guard before he had been ensnared. If it had just been Sevris and Ordon, even without the magic, the wizard-king would have easily tackled the duke and gotten out of the mess.

It was the woman that Sevris was leery about. She was old and ugly—the only indication that she was related to Ordon was the color of her eyes. Elma the Mole had straggly gray hair, unkempt and in disarray, and sharp, grimy nails. Her hooked nose sprouted a prominent mole and she walked with a twisted cane. The hag was powerful in her dark magic, powerful and cunning. Without his own powers, Sevris could not hope to stand a chance. Elma had the key to the magic collar and that was the price that the duke dictated. The key for the scepter room in return for the key to the collar. But from the duke's previous underhanded tactics, Sevris had no doubt that Ordon would fail to keep his end of the bargain if he told him where the scepter room key was.

"So have you changed your mind yet?" the duke asked him.

The wizard-king simply gave him an angry, golden-eyed stare.

"Petulant, aren't we? Well, I'm really tired of waiting. The month's almost up, you know. And I've been thinking about what to do to make it more convincing to you that it is of utmost importance that you give me the location of the key."

"Bastard," said Sevris. "There is nothing you can do to make me tell you where the key is."

Ordon stepped forward and struck his face with the back of his many ringed hand. The sparkling jewels he wore were sharp. Gingerly, Sevris touched his raw face with his fingers and came away with blood. "You will not speak like that to me," the duke seethed. "I have the throne."

"You are not king," Sevris said coldly. "You will never be king."

"Silence, you imprudent pup!" Ordon gritted his teeth and turned to Elma who was observing the scene with bloodthirsty interest. "Aunt, give him a taste of what I will start doing to his precious subjects if he does not reveal the key."

"My pleasure," the hag grated. She raised a hand.

Sevris stared at the duo wide-eyed when he felt power raising his body up in the air. And before he could protest, his body was flung against the wall like a rag doll. His head banged against the stone and blackness spilled into his vision and consciousness. 


	5. Part V

The Tinderbox

Part V

"Did you have to beat him up before carting him up here?"

"He was already beaten up when we fetched him."

Sevris slowly swam awake but kept his eyes closed as he tried to orient himself. The two voices were most assuredly not that of the duke or the witch-hag. The first speaker had been a woman with a low, timorous voice. He could tell that she was annoyed, but the tone somehow soothed his badly bruised nerves. The second voice was gruff and not quite human and sounded slightly exasperated. He opened his eyes and looked up at a warmly lit ceiling. He moved his head a fraction. He was in a bed with linen sheets faintly smelling of roses.

He moved his head a little more and saw a woman in a white nightgown standing barefoot in front of three wrinkle-faced dogs, one larger than the next and all of them with impossibly large green eyes. The woman had left her long dark hair loose, the ends slightly curling. Her back was to him, but by the tone of her voice, she was not done berating the dogs. I must be dreaming, he thought. I can't be awake if I'm in an inn room with a woman and three dogs—one of them probably as large as a horse.

"Well, what's done is done," the woman concluded. "Meeny, Miney, go get some salve and hot water."

"What about me?" said Moe.

"You're to stay here and make sure he doesn't try anything." The woman turned. "Oh, you're finally awake."

Sevris thought the hag had probably addled his brains when she had thrown him against the wall. The woman's face was angled, like that of a wicked blade. Her gray eyes clear and assessing and her mouth, lush. He stared at her mouth thinking that his libido had finally caught up with him after his month long imprisonment. Or perhaps he really had finally gone mad. Her words belatedly penetrated his foggy thoughts.

"How are you feeling?"

He swallowed and croaked, "Horrible."

She helped him sit up and handed him a glass of water. His head still pounded and he winced when he took a sip. "You are the wizard-king of Tarsica, aren't you, your majesty?" she said doubtfully.

"I am," he replied, thinking there was no harm in talking to a dream. "You can call me Sevris, under the circumstances."

Her eyes narrowed. "I am Velessa. Or Vel, if you prefer. You don't look like a wizard-king. Have you been in a fight?"

"A terribly one-sided one, I'm afraid. The Duke of Corona and his witch-hag aunt decided to convince me again to give them the key to the scepter room. They weren't particularly happy when I said no."

"The Duke of Corona?" she said. "The regent on the throne? Why was he talking to you? I thought you were away somewhere…"

"I'm a prisoner in my own home and I can't do anything about it since the hag put this magic collar on me," he shrugged. "Although I wonder how it is that I've ended up in your bed. This is a pretty vivid dream."

"A dream, huh?" she said, suddenly amused.

"I can smell and feel things. You even have a faint accent. Where exactly are you from?"

"Catonia."

"That explains it." Despite his throbbing headache, he leaned forward and kissed her. Her mouth was as soft as he had imagined it. She made a small, startled sound at the back of her throat and he pulled away, wishing his dream had been more willing.

"What was that for?" She glared at him.

He found himself grinning. "It's been a while since I've had such a pleasant dream. Playing hard to get, aren't you?"

She raised an eyebrow although she made no move to get away from him. "This is no dream, wizard-king." Before she could say anything else, the other two dogs appeared with a container of salve and a bowl of hot water. She took these and began to tend to the wounds on his face in a dispassionate manner, heedless of his protests.

"How can I be sure that this isn't some dream cooked up by my fevered brain?" he demanded when she finished applying the salve.

"You can't be sure, can you?" she replied coolly. "Tell me why you're a prisoner in your own home."

He told her. If she was just a dream, it would be harmless. If she wasn't—then she must be an incredibly powerful sorceress to get him out of his prison cell. She appeared pensive after his explanation. "If you were to suddenly disappear from your prison cell, what would they do?"

"Ordon would send out men to search for me, naturally," he said. "Without me, he can't get to the scepter."

"What's so important about the scepter?"

He frowned. "Does its importance matter to the problem at hand?"

"If it's so important—I'd imagine it's an important piece for the Duke of Corona to take control of the country." She rubbed her eyes and got up to pace. The dog-spirits followed her with their eyes. "I think we would have to return you to your cell for the time being and think about this. I have heard rumors that the duke may be planning to attack Catonia and if you could somehow free yourself…" She stopped and looked pointedly at the golden collar at his neck. "Is there any way to get that off you?"

"Aside from the witch-hag's key? I'm afraid not. It's magic."

"Meeny," Vel addressed the smallest dog-spirit. "Do you think it is possible for you to retrieve the collar's key?"

The dog-spirit pounced into the bed and sniffed at the collar. Sevris stoically stayed still as the mutt made a sort of snuffling sound and drooled over his shirt. "No mistress. The collar can only be unlocked by dark magic. I cannot touch such a key. We could try fetching the witch-hag, if you wish."

"No," Sevris and Vel said at once. Vel shook her head. "If you can't get the key, we'll have to find another way to obtain it. Yes, I think it is a better idea that we return you to your prison while we think about how to approach this."

"You sound like a war general experienced in strategic maneuvers," he said.

Vel looked thoughtful at his remark. "I could have advanced to the rank of general if the war lasted a couple of more years," she said.

"You, a general?" Sevris had a hard time envisioning the pretty woman in a nightgown barking orders to hardened troops.

"I was a captain for the Catonian army when the war ended. Unfortunately, I couldn't get any job better than messenger when the rebuilding began. I was thinking about settling down to a comfortable retirement in Garren and possibly marrying one of those fat merchants. It would be a comfortable life. Of course now, with my friends," she waved her hand to the three dog-spirits, "I will probably revise my plans."

"Oh?" He couldn't picture her marrying a fat merchant either, but with their trade wealth, fat merchants usually had their pick of women whether the women wanted to or not.

"Like nixing the marriage with the fat merchant," she explained. "Would you want to bed a fat merchant if you didn't absolutely have to?"

He blanched. "Well, since you put it that way…"

She whispered something into Meeny's ear and the dog-spirit nodded, bounding away. In another moment, he was back with a cup of what looked like tea. Sevris looked suspiciously at it.

"This will help your headache go away," she explained.

"How will I know if it will put me to sleep?" he replied. "And how will I know that this is real and not just some strange dream?"

She took out a gold coin from a sack sitting by her bed and slipped it in his pocket. "If you find it the next morning, it would be proof enough."

Sevris awoke again and discovered that he was lying back on the straw cot in his prison cell. What an odd dream, he thought to himself. Perhaps it was a sign that he was going mad? He rubbed his jaw and felt smooth skin where the scratches from the duke's slap should have been. Startled, he immediately began checking the pockets in his clothes and retrieved a gold coin which glimmered faintly as the sunlight streamed from the tiny window in his cell. He clenched the coin in a fist. He saw Velessa's face in his mind and dared to hope. 


	6. Part VI

The Tinderbox

Part VI

Vel grinned with glee when she first stepped into her new townhouse. The servants she had hired to make the place livable had scrubbed it clean and filled it with polished furniture. The new clothes had arrived too and after a luxuriously hot bath, she donned a silk dress that caressed her skin delightfully. Invitations had already started pouring in for social calls—apparently all the merchants and nobles of the city had heard of a mysteriously wealthy lady captain taking up residence in Garren.

But which invitation should she accept first? She knew virtually no one in the country except perhaps the wizard-king. She scooped up all the calling cards and told her servants that she was not to be disturbed while she was busy writing replies. Vel locked herself in her new study and spread the invitations on a desk. She took out the battered tinderbox she kept in a dress pocket and struck it once.

Meeny appeared at her feet. "Good afternoon, mistress. What can I do for you?"

She waved a hand over the invitations. "Do you have any expertise on who to call and who not to call in Garren society? I'm afraid I don't know anyone and I don't want to offend anyone accidentally."

The smallest dog-spirit pounced on the desk and sniffed at the cards. "I'm afraid not, mistress," he said finally. "You might want to call on Moe."

"Moe?"

"He has a bigger brain than I do."

Vel frowned but waved Meeny away and struck the tinderbox thrice. Moe appeared and as usual, he was taking up much of the room space. The largest dog-spirit inquired about her needs. She posed the same question.

Moe blinked and his platter-sized green eyes seemed to whirl like gears as he cocked his head and thought. "I do not believe you will offend anyone if you do not call on them as long as you pen a reply," he finally said. "Who you call on will be your own business and your own choice."

"But I don't know where to begin! I'm the daughter of a watchmaker—the fourth daughter at that—and my family never had to call on anyone considering our station. And the rest of my life was consumed with the war. I had no time to learn about social subtleties."

"In that case, you might be better off first meeting with some people who might be more forgiving about any social gaffes."

"All right. That would eliminate the bluebloods, right?" She sat down and peered at the cards.

"The ones with titles, you mean?" said Moe. "Perhaps, but not necessarily. The bourgeoisie can sometimes be socially ambitious."

"Actually, what would most interest me would be those who know the wizard-king and the circumstances that the duke took over the throne. Especially those who would be willing to gossip in front of me without being suspicious of my questions."

"That would be tricky," the dog-spirit replied. "I do not know the personalities and reputations of humans I do not serve."

"If that is the case, then I will have to start blindly then." She stuck her hand into the pile and pulled out one invitation. "This one is a card from a Mrs. Reynard of Parey Road. As I recall, it's in a rather fashionable neighborhood."

"Populated by wealthy merchants," Moe supplied.

"Extremely wealthy merchants," Vel nodded. "Well, I suppose I'll drop in for tea and see what I can find out. The worst that could happen would be a tediously boring afternoon over cakes and sandwiches."

Afternoon tea at Mrs. Reynard's turned out to be beyond boring. The woman holding the gathering only talked about herself and Vel nor the other guests could get a word in edgewise. Her first try at gathering information in the higher social circles was a bust. Feeling somewhat discouraged, Vel ended up taking dinner in her own rooms and dismissed her new servants for the night. She sat up in her bed, knees drawn up to her chin, and watched the crackling fire that one of the servants had tended in the fireplace before being dismissed.

Growing up, Vel always spent the time in the evenings in the kitchen with her siblings while her mother and occasionally her father would tell stories and gossip about their day. When she was in the army, she and her fellow soldiers would gather around a campfire during one of the fighting lulls and tell stories from their childhood. It wasn't so much the stories that she missed but the closeness between her and the people that she had cared for. In Mrs. Reynard's saloon—where the woman had held her tea party—there was no closeness. Everyone had been separated by expected social protocol.

Watching the flickering flames, Vel's thoughts turned to the golden-eyed wizard-king. If she had any sense, she would stay out of Tarsican politics and intrigue. With the Catonia-Aldenbar war, she had had enough of it to last several lifetimes. Let the king fend for himself. But no matter how hard she tried, she could not quite get him out of her mind. It was his fault, she thought resentfully as her fingers strayed to the nightgown pocket where she kept the tinderbox. Why did he have to think that he was in a dream and to kiss her with that wicked mouth of his?

As if some outside force had seized her fingers, Vel took out the tinderbox and struck it once, twice, three times. The dog-spirits appeared at the foot of her bed, watching her with large green eyes and waiting for her command. But instead of immediately telling them what she wanted, she told them of her dismal afternoon. Moe cocked his head. Meeny yawned, as if bored. And Miney shook his head as if he thought she was some silly gossip.

"That is not why you summoned us, is it?" remarked Moe. "You don't want our opinion about this Mrs. Reynard. You will be visiting someone else the next day?"

"Oh, most assuredly." Vel frowned. "But this won't get me anywhere. I don't know how to start or where to proceed. It's doubly hard since I don't know anyone in this city."

"Perhaps you need someone who knows Tarsican society to help you," said Miney.

Vel shook her head. "But how are you going to find such a person if you don't know the people here either?"

The dog-spirits glanced at each other, suddenly stumped by that conundrum.

She leaned back on her pillows and stared up at the ceiling. "To be honest, I don't really want to think too much about all these social calls. They seem rather pointless compared to a lot of things—like war and life and death. What I really wish is for someone to just talk to. Could you," and she paused for a moment, listening to the faint dissenting thought in her mind but soon brushed it off, "bring me the wizard-king again, please?"

Meeny let out a soft woof as if he was chuckling. "All right. But don't blame us if he's beaten up again." And the three dog-spirits disappeared. 


	7. Part VII

The Tinderbox

Part VII

Vel got off the bed and pulled on a wrap as she dropped the tinderbox back into the pocket of her nightgown. She drew up a chair next to the fireplace and waited. She felt her eyelids drooping when there was finally a thump against the bedroom door. She opened it and the three dog-spirits trotted in with the wizard-king Sevris lying prone along the largest dog-spirit's back. Moe padded to the bed and gave what looked like a shrug and the wizard-king slid onto the bed covers.

She closed the door and walked to the bed. Looking down, she noticed that his eyes were closed. Vel touched a faint, almost invisible line on his cheek. "Healing nicely, I see." She didn't bother to draw her hand away from his face.

"Is there anything else you need, mistress?" asked Moe.

Sevris sighed in his slumber and unconsciously turned to nuzzle her palm. "No," she said. "But come back before dawn to retrieve him."

The three dog-spirits nodded and disappeared. She pondered the empty space that they left and wondered if she was foolish to have banished her only possible chaperones.

"Are they gone?"

The breath from his words tickled her fingers and she immediately snatched her hand away. His eyes were still closed but his mouth was slightly curved. She glared down at him. "Were you awake the entire time?"

He opened his eyes. "I was awake when your dog-spirit deposited me on your bed." He raised himself to his elbows and sat up. "This is different," he said as he gazed about the room. "Your home?"

"I bought this townhouse." She took a step back and wrapped her hands around a bedpost.

"And you brought me here," he said. "My first thought was that you were a powerful sorceress."

Vel shook her head. "I am no such thing. I was…lucky in acquiring all of this."

"Well, congratulations on your luck then." He got out of the bed and stood. Vel's eyes widened when she realized that he was taller than she had first estimated. "You don't suppose you could lend me some of that luck to help me get out of this?" He pointed to the collar on his neck.

"Is there no way that it can come off other than the key that goes with it?"

Sevris paced towards the fireplace and hooked an arm over the mantle to watch the flames broodingly. "Elma the Mole keeps it on her person all the time."

"Elma the Mole?"

"The witch-hag," he clarified. "She keeps it on a brass chain around her neck. I hope one day she chokes on it."

"And there's no way to get close to her to get it?"

"Close?" He laughed humorlessly. "She'd blast you before you take a step towards her."

She thought of the first wizard she had encountered and the luck she had in deflecting his powers. It was only luck, she told herself. Aloud, she said, "I've heard talk that the Duke of Corona is an ambitious man who might look outside Tarsican borders for power."

"You've heard that, have you?" The wizard-king frowned. "I suppose I'm not surprised. If he covets more land, I would say he would first turn north."

"And if you wanted to increase your kingdom, would you look north also?"

His eyes narrowed as he regarded Vel standing deceptively calmly next to the bed. "Are you trying to gauge whether I am worthy to be freed or not? I have no quarrel with the northern countries. Help me and you will be assured that your home country will have no threat from me. You cannot say the same if this country is ruled by a duke."

"How do I know you say the truth?"

"You have my word."

Vel hugged her wrap closer to her body. "As a new inhabitant of Garren, I have recently received quite a few invitations from the wealthy and titled in this country's higher social circles. Perhaps I could help you contact someone who is loyal to you."

"My cousin and my advisors," he said immediately and then paused. "But don't tell them exactly what has happened to me. I know them and if they knew my situation, they would rush to rescue me, heedless of the consequences. They don't know the extent of the witch-hag's power. Everyone sees her as the duke's elderly aunt. I didn't know until it was too late." His fingers involuntarily touched the magic collar again.

Through the night, she and the wizard-king talked of the possible contacts she could find in Garren who might be able to help in his cause. Eventually they made themselves comfortable on a large window seat while they had their conversations. The curtains were only partly drawn so a bit of moonlight peeked through to vie with the dying firelight. And finally, when the fire had pulsed down to embers and the conversation dribbled towards silence, Vel found herself leaning towards him to press her lips against his jaw. He said her name once, lowly. She moved back.

The three dog-spirits had arrived. Reluctantly, he moved and mounted the largest dog-spirit. Vel watched them leave the room and then turned to peek out the window. Three dark blobs slid over the city streets, heading towards the castle. She curled up on the window seat and fell asleep with the coming of dawn. 


End file.
